If I Could Only Have You Near
by breath-of-spring
Summary: Some letters written during Jane's exile in South America. This is sort of a companion piece to my previous story "The Hands I Love," but you don't need to have read that to understand this.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I had the idea to flesh out the excerpt of the letter I included in "The Hands I Love" and add a few others as well. I've got a couple of them written, but it's still a work in progress, so we'll see how it goes. Like my other story, the title for this one is from Gordon Lightfoot's "Song for a Winter's Night."

 **If I Could Only Have You Near**

"...What cannot letters inspire? They have souls; they can speak; they have in them all that force which expresses the transports of the heart; they have all the fire of our passions; they can raise them as much as if the persons themselves were present; they have in them all the softness and delicacy of speech, and sometimes a boldness of expression even beyond it."

-Héloïse d'Argenteuil

Dear Lisbon,

I hope this finds you well. I just wanted to let you know that I'm all right, that you don't need to worry about me. I got out of the country with no problems, and now here I am, a stranger in a strange land. I won't tell you exactly where "here" is, so as not to cause more trouble for you. The feds can't touch me here, but deniability is still your best friend.

I will say that I'm somewhere warm, and by the ocean. It's really quite beautiful; I wish you could see it. I've found a little apartment to rent, not far from the water. It even has a tiny balcony, and if I stand on it and lean my head over, I can see some of the fishing boats in the harbour.

A storm is expected to hit this afternoon, so the local fishermen are returning to shore earlier than usual today. The harbour itself is the most beautiful spot in the area, I think. It's not particularly big, but the land that surrounds it is mostly made up of rolling hills which protect the little bay from the most damaging winds that can ravage the rest of the coastline. This results in calmer waters in the harbour, and even the oldest of fishing boats (and believe me, it's a marvel some of them are still afloat) are safe from damage.

The harbour reminds me of you. The name "Lisbon" means "safe harbour," doesn't it? It suits the city in Portugal, and it suits you too. You've always been one to protect others, haven't you? Always thinking of the welfare of those around you and making sacrifices to ensure their safety and success, even when they're undeserving of it, like yours truly.

Speaking of which, I need you to know how sorry I am about the consequences you and the team have had to face for being so loyal to me. You especially Lisbon, are one of the most caring and steadfast people I have ever had the honour of calling my friend, and I will always regret having to leave you alone to deal with the fallout of my actions. I told you years ago that I would always save you, and you in turn predicted that you would one day be fired because of me. You have no idea how sorry I am that you were right and I was wrong.

I hope you find a new job soon, in a place worthy of your talent and dedication, but I suspect you might be having some difficulty after what has no doubt been a very public and in-depth inquiry into your role in my mission, and of course the whole Blake Association mess. Don't lose hope though, Lisbon. Any organization would be lucky to have you working for them, and sooner or later they'll realize it.

As for me, I'm feeling a little at loose ends here. For over a decade, I've had a single purpose in life, one mission that focused my thoughts and motivated me to get out of bed in the morning. Just about every aspect of my life, my very identity, revolved around my quest for revenge. Now that it's over, I don't know quite what to do with myself. (Of course, you know me better than to think this is me wishing for a different outcome. Not at all. You know I would do it again in a heartbeat. I don't regret my actions, other than the consequences they had for you and the team.)

I never gave much thought to what the aftermath would be like. Quite honestly, I knew there was a strong chance I wouldn't survive to experience it, and certainly not as a free man. That I did is thanks in no small part to you. Not just because you gave me your gun and convinced Abbott to let me go that day, but because of everything you've done all these years. You kept me from acting recklessly at times when I got too carried away with my plans to think rationally. You also kept me from falling into despair at times when the odds were stacked against us, when nothing seemed to go in our favour.

For the longest time, I've seen my life as existing in two sections: before my family was murdered, and after. Everything that has happened to me, the people I've met, all my memories, everything I've learned; all of it is written in one of those two very different chapters. Now I seem to be starting a new chapter, and I don't know what to make of it as yet. I don't know what to make of myself. What kind of man am I now? What goal am I working toward? How should I spend my time? It's been so long since I've lived my life for its own sake. It's going to take some time to get used to. Fortunately, time is something I have a fair amount of, these days.

I hope you're well, Lisbon. I'll write again soon.

Miss you,

U No Hoo

 **A/N:** I know I wrote in "The Hands I Love" that Jane doesn't put much geographical description in his letters, but I couldn't resist including that part about the harbour because I recently came across that theory of the etymology of the name Lisbon. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thanks for reading and reviewing the last chapter! And now, on to the second letter...

Dear Lisbon,

I find myself thinking of you a great deal. There is so much I want to know about your life now. What does your house look like? Do you have any new hobbies? How's the new job? Are you making friends? Are you happy? An inquiring mind wants to know.

It's frustrating for someone as nosy as I am not to be able to find these things out. However, my deductive skills have proved somewhat useful at times in the past, and so there are a number of guesses I'm going to submit based on my knowledge of your character and the bits of information that the limited internet access in these parts has seen fit to provide. Ready to play? It'll be fun. Oh come on, yes it will.

The given fact is that you are now the chief of police in a small town in Washington, a position you took on about a month ago. That would mean you were unemployed for about six months after the demise of the CBI, far too long for someone with your love of work to remain willingly idle, so from that I can deduce that your association with the CBI and its tainted name kept you from finding a position of equal stature. Nevertheless, your own impeccable reputation and the connections you've made over the years helped you find your current job.

How am I doing so far? Am I accurate? Isn't this fun? I'm going to go pour myself another cup of tea while you shake your head and roll your eyes. Meet you back here in a minute.

Ah, that's better. Let's see, where were we? Oh yes, your new job. "Chief Lisbon" has a nice ring to it. I'll bet you're impressing your colleagues and the community to no end. I'm guessing the town already has a pretty low crime rate, and I predict that under your watch, it will become almost non-existent.

As wonderful as I'm sure you are in your new role, it must be quite a change of pace from being the leader of the SCU. I know it's not the direction you were hoping your career would take at this point in your life. Hell, let's face it: you're bored silly, aren't you? It pains me to be the cause of you losing everything you've worked so hard to achieve all these years. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about that and feel guilty. You have done so much for me, far more than I will ever be able to repay. I just want you to know how grateful I am, and that I will never forget it.

Now, what about your new digs? I'm picturing a cosy little house with a fireplace. I'll bet there's even space for a garden that you planned on tending as a hobby, but you haven't started it yet because you have no idea what to grow or where to begin. If I were you, Lisbon, I'd plant some daffodil bulbs. They don't need much tending, and now is just about the right time to put them in the ground. Then at the end of winter, just when you think you can't possibly stand any more of the gloomy Pacific Northwest rain, those golden heads will look up at you and smile. You'll see. They'll be a harbinger of brighter things to come.

I hope you're making friends, that you're not feeling lonely with all your newfound spare time. Friendship has never been something that's come easily to you though, has it? That's OK. It's never come easily to me either, although we each have different reasons for it. Before, I was too busy thinking about how I could take advantage of people rather than how I could befriend them. The only friendly overtures I made outside of the carny circuit were always calculated, phony.

And after...well, I was too busy pursuing my quest to put much effort into making friends. I was very fortunate that friendship found me anyway, in the form of your team, and in you most especially. It's funny how sometimes the most important parts of your life can be things that you never sought in the first place.

As for you and friendship, you've never wanted to get too attached to people out of fear that they'd be taken away from you in one way or another, isn't that right? People, and life itself, can be notoriously fickle, can't they? And what better way to shield yourself from the pain of loss than by not allowing your heart to form attachments in the first place?

That may sound like a veiled criticism, but rest assured that it isn't. Whether or not Tennyson was on to something with that whole "'Tis better to have loved and lost" business, I'm certainly in no position to be doling out advice about friendship. All I know is that I'm a better person for having yours. I know, it's presumptuous of me to assume that I still have your friendship after the way I left things, after all that I have (and continue to) put you through. I may be taking your forgiveness for granted, but only because I know that that is the kind of person you are. And to be honest, I need to take it for granted, Lisbon, because yours has been one of the most important friendships of my life, and I don't know what I'd do without it.

I hope you know that you will always have my friendship, although I'm aware that that's not a particularly attractive offer while I'm sitting here half a world away, unable to listen to you or ease your burdens in any way. You have always been the one giving, and I have always been the one taking, and that's how it remains, with me taking up your time and clamouring for your attention through these letters. I'm sorry I can't be there for you now, and I have no way of knowing what the future holds (there are no such things as psychics, remember?) but no matter what happens, the one thing I can promise you is that you will never be far from my thoughts. I will always be wishing you well. You deserve every happiness, Teresa.

Miss you,

U No Hoo


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Happy New Year! Sorry for the long delay in posting this chapter. A combination of work and the holidays left me with no time to write over the past few weeks, and things are only just starting to get back to normal. I hope you enjoy this letter written by Lisbon.**

Dear Jane,

I can't believe I'm writing you a letter that I know you'll never get. It feels like an exercise some shrink would get me to do, and you know I don't exactly have the best track record with shrinks. Either that or a diary entry, and I've never really been a "Dear Diary" kind of girl. But I don't know what else to do. I can't tell anyone I've heard from you, and not being able to send you letters in return is driving me crazy, so I'll just have to do the next best thing.

I don't know exactly what I'm hoping to achieve by writing a letter I can't send, but if it helps me get rid of this restless, antsy feeling, it'll be worth it. I've been running a lot and doing some kickboxing, which sometimes helps, but there's only so much exercise a person can do without risking physical collapse, so what the hell, I'll give this a shot.

Thank you for sending me your letters. That's what I've been wanting to say the most. I wish I could let you know how much I appreciate them, how relieved I am to know that you're OK. I was really worried about you. I still worry, but at least now I know you're out there somewhere and you've found a place to live. I'm glad it's somewhere by the ocean. You always did love being by the water.

As far as losing my job is concerned, don't beat yourself up about it. I mean I really appreciate your apology (that was probably the nicest apology I've ever received, by the way. And I got it in writing, no less. That really means a lot coming from a man who was always so unrepentant about all the stunts he pulled to solve crimes, or even just to get one over on everyone else) but even if the CBI hadn't been disbanded, I wouldn't have wanted to keep working for an organization that had been infiltrated right to its core by corruption. If my job had to be a casualty of exposing the Blake Association, I'm more than willing to accept that. I just wish it hadn't cost the careers of my team and the other innocent employees.

Honestly, I don't regret how things ended. We took down one of the worst serial killers California has ever seen and shot the Blake Association straight through the heart. You achieved your goal without losing your life or going to prison. All of my prayers were answered. I couldn't have asked for any more than that without feeling greedy.

OK, so my new job is a little boring, but since when is boredom the worst thing in the world? (Yeah, I know it may be for you, smartass, but I mean for us mere mortals.) Everyone at work is so friendly and the whole town has been very welcoming, so that kind of makes up for the lack of excitement. I'm also getting more than five hours of sleep a night for the first time in ages. How are you sleeping these days? Still suffering from insomnia? I hope not, but if so I hope you have a comfortable couch to nap on during the day.

You were right about the gardening (big surprise. Even in letters you're a know-it-all. I never thought that would be something I'd miss. Go figure). I've never had the time or the space to pursue it before, but now that I do, I realize I don't know the first thing about plants, and I have no idea where to start. Thanks for the tip about the daffodils. I've always loved them. Maybe I'll stop by the garden supply store tomorrow and pick up some bulbs.

Also, don't worry too much about me being lonely. The people here are great, and now that everyone knows me as the new police chief, it seems I can't walk ten feet without someone saying hello and starting a conversation. It's very kind of them, even if it does make it impossible to get my grocery shopping done in a timely manner.

Anyway, I've never really minded spending time by myself, maybe because in the past I've had so little of it. Either I was taking care of three rambunctious brothers, or living with roommates all through college, or I had a job with demanding hours. All of that left me with very little time to myself, so it always seemed like a luxury, almost a guilty pleasure. Like that Thanksgiving I spent by myself, eating ice cream and watching old movies. I told everyone I was going to see my brothers back in Chicago because visiting family just seems to be the thing to do during the holidays, but really I just wanted to savour the time alone. Anyway, Stan's family was going to Karen's parents' house that year, and Tommy and Jimmy each had other plans as well, so it was the perfect opportunity. But of course you saw right through me, didn't you?

So it's actually quite a refreshing change of pace to have so much time to myself. OK, so sometimes the evenings seem a little too long, but it's a perfect opportunity to catch up on my professional reading, got to keep up with new developments in the field and all that. And would you believe I unpacked all my boxes? I was pretty proud of that.

You can go right ahead and presume away about my friendship, Jane. You'll always have it. And again, there's nothing to forgive. I knew what I'd signed on for when I started working with you. All the same, thanks for appreciating my help and thinking of me. It means a lot.

Your friendship means a lot to me too. Have I ever told you that? It's true that I've never made friends easily, not true friends. I guess it's for the same reason that I've never been one for serious relationships: I never wanted to invest the time (which I was always so short of anyway) and emotion into something that could have messy and painful consequences. I know the sudden, devastating void that's left after someone is ripped away from you for no good reason. And I also know the gnawing ache of gradual loss when someone is pulled away more slowly, by a force beyond their control. Both are intensely painful. Both are senseless in their own ways.

And even though I've never had tons of friends, I never felt lonely because being a cop is like having a second family. Spending day after day with people who have saved your life and whose lives you've saved creates a bond stronger than most friendships I see. There were many people I worked with over the years whom I didn't always see eye to eye with, but when it came right down to it, I knew they'd stick their necks out for me, and they knew I'd do the same for them. That's what a family does. That's what we did, you and me, and Cho and Rigsby and Van Pelt. And even though we're all spread out now, it would take a lot more than distance to break the connection we've built.

You say that I'm the one who's always giving and you're the one always taking, but you've given me things too, Jane. Whether it was a piece of fruit because you knew I'd skipped lunch, or staying with me when I had a bomb strapped to my chest, you were there for me. I'm used to taking charge and being a leader. I like helping people to see their strengths and reach their potential. But leaders need people to talk to and lean on as well. You taught me that by looking out for me even when I didn't think I needed it. Above all, you gave me your trust, something I know you don't give to just anyone.

And now, you're still giving me things. Only you would see writing me letters as a selfish occupation. Have you stopped to think of what these letters are providing me with? Relief in knowing that you are safe and well. Reassurance that you're thinking of me and still want to tell me things about your life. Entertainment to get me through the rainy nights. And you're doing it all without the hope of receiving anything in return. So thank you, Jane. Thank you for all that you've done, and all that you do.

I miss you.

Lisbon

 **A/N: I decided to have Lisbon write unsent letters in reply as a way of dealing with missing Jane. It might seem a little OOC for her since she's not usually big on delving into her feelings, but I couldn't let go of the idea, and I thought the fact that Jane's not receiving the letters might allow her to feel more comfortable expressing herself.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks again for your kind reviews! I'm glad so many people liked the idea of Lisbon opening up. And now back to Jane...**

Dear Lisbon,

There are still moments when time weighs heavily upon me. It passes very slowly here. I suppose that's partly because of the local culture. Life moves at a slower pace. Most of the shopkeepers in the village close their doors around one o'clock when the heat of the day gets intense. They usually re-open later in the afternoon, although one can't always count on it, and I can't say I blame them. The heat and humidity can be so stifling at times that taking a nap in a shady spot seems the only sensible thing to do.

I don't mind the laid-back attitude of the locals, after all I don't have any deadlines to meet or tasks to accomplish. It seems very civilized to me. They work hard and then they devote their energies to their families, friends, and just enjoying the day.

I've been trying to adopt that mindset myself, to enjoy the days rather than wonder how long I'll be here, or whether I'll ever get back to the U.S. Usually I'm pretty successful. I chat with people around the town to practice my language skills (I think they're coming along quite nicely if I do say so myself, although the locals still love to tease me about my pronunciation). I drink tea and eat eggs cooked to perfection by the proprietor of the little outdoor cafe on the beach. I swim in the warm turquoise water, making the acquaintance of all sorts of colourful fish, and even the odd sea turtle. The rhythm of the days plays out in a pleasant blur.

But there are also days like today, when I'm haunted by the past as much as ever, when even a place as calm and quiet as this paradise feels like a prison, when I would give anything just to...well, I don't even know. Escape? But where? To what?

I'm tempted to think I'm suffering from homesickness, but I haven't had a place to call "home" in over a decade. Well no, I guess that isn't strictly true. The CBI was a home to me. It was a home to both of us, wasn't it? When I needed quiet to focus and privacy to plan, there was my attic where I could lock myself away and keep everyone out (everyone except you of course. You'd just bang on the door until I got tired of the noise and let you in).

And there was the couch in the bullpen when I needed to feel that I wasn't alone, that I was part of something bigger than myself. I needed the comforting sounds of Grace following up leads on her computer, of Cho turning the pages of his book, of Rigsby's stomach rumbling. I needed those late nights I'd spend on the couch in your office, listening to you typing away on your keyboard and grumbling every now and again about how much paperwork I'd caused for you. Those were my lullabies. Those were the sounds of home.

What about you, Lisbon? How is your new home coming along? Have you unpacked all your boxes yet? I'm guessing you have. Probably not many late nights at the office to keep you from housekeeping, hmm? Unexpected as this change in circumstances was for you, I'll bet having the time to set up a home for yourself is proving to be more enjoyable than you'd anticipated. It's not something you've really had the chance to experience in all the time you've been devoted to your work. I'll bet you even have a fireplace. You always wanted a fireplace, didn't you?

You never thought you'd be one to enjoy arranging furniture and hanging up picture frames, am I right? As a no-nonsense cop, you've always taken pride in being ready to go at a moment's notice, not needing to rely on creature comforts to give you a sense of security. But I've always known you have a domestic side. True, you have no great love for cooking (that was a thankless chore that always fell to you while looking after a house full of boys, no doubt), but you definitely have a knack for arranging things. Take your office at the CBI for example. It was always warm and welcoming. You kept your desk so neat and tidy, everything in its assigned place (after all, you never know when you'll need a hammer, right?). You even made room for sentimental items like photographs and your prized Greg Maddux signed baseball.

And of course, let's not forget the couch that let everyone know that no matter how busy you were, staff members were always welcome to come in and take a load off, enjoy a cup of tea and just shoot the breeze for a while. At least, that's the message I chose to take from it. Now, I know what you're thinking, Lisbon. "If I'm so great at creating a comfortable atmosphere, why did you buy a new couch to replace my perfectly good red one? Without my permission, no less?"

Well, far be it from me to criticize your taste, my dear. I'm sure that couch was perfectly serviceable for the odd sit-down on the rare occasions when something I'd done gave you a headache and you needed a few minutes by yourself to rub your temples and bemoan my presence in your life. But you deserved better than "serviceable," Lisbon. You deserved something luxurious and comfortable, something that would offer a little haven of serenity in the midst of a stressful workday. So really I only had your best interests at heart. That, and also the red couch was a tad on the small side and you know how I like to stretch out my legs when I nap.

There I go, talking about the CBI again. I guess maybe it is homesickness. In spite of the wonderful new home I'm sure you're making for yourself now, I bet you miss it too. It's OK to miss it, Lisbon. You don't need to chide yourself for living in the past or worry that you're not making enough of an effort to move on. It's only natural to miss something to which you devoted so much of yourself. So you just go ahead and miss it as much as you want, and I'll be here missing it right along with you. Just remember this: what makes a place a home are the people who live in it, and at least we can take comfort in the knowledge that the people who meant the most to us—who mean the most to us—are still safe and well. We may not be able to see each other at the moment but trust me, we'll meet again, as the old song goes, some sunny day.

Missing you always,

U No Hoo


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sorry for the delay! Work, real life, blah-di-blah. Anyway, on to Lisbon...**

Dear Jane,

I'm sorry to hear that you're feeling homesick, although the selfish part of me is a bit glad that I'm not the only one who misses the CBI. It makes me feel less alone.

Not that I'm lonely. Not really. I still talk to Rigsby and Van Pelt a fair bit, and they've even come to visit a couple of times. They've settled in San Francisco and are setting up a surveillance business. And they're expecting a baby! Isn't that something? I'm so proud of them, of how far they've come. And they're so good together. I wish you could see them, Jane. They're so happy, and they have such a bright future ahead of them. They certainly deserve it after all the ups and downs they've faced over the years.

I don't hear much from Cho, which is understandable. He's hardly one for long phone conversations or Skype chats, and neither of us cares much for discussing our feelings. But every once in a while he sends me an e-mail telling me about the latest books he's read. I really appreciate it; when someone as uncommunicative as Cho makes the effort to keep in touch, it really means a lot. But then, look at whom I'm writing to.

There are people here in town that I'm getting to know a little bit. I really like my co-workers. My officers are hard workers who take pride in the town they serve, and the volunteers who staff the reception desk are all good-hearted people. My neighbours are very friendly as well. So why is it, with all these great people around, that I still feel like I have no one to talk to? Why is it that I'd rather just spend my evenings alone, reading? Or writing letters with no destination? I guess it's just part of missing what came before. I've been trying to snap myself out of it, to throw myself into my new life here and leave the past behind.

That's what I've always done in times of change; it always seemed like the most practical way to get a handle on things. It doesn't appear to be working so well this time though, I guess because I have more time on my hands. And there's something about these rainy evenings that seems to encourage more self-reflection than I would normally have the patience for.

You mentioned in your first letter how you saw your life in terms of before and after. I think that's only natural. We seem to view our lives on a mental timeline, navigating from one experience to another. When something as traumatic as losing your family happens, you can't help but classify the rest of your life in relation to that event. You notice all the big and little ways in which it changes you.

That's how it went for me after my mom died. Before, I was just a regular kid. I went to sleepovers, blew my allowance on candy, had fights with my mom because she wouldn't let me get my ears pierced. After, I was the caretaker. There was no time for sleepovers. I was the one telling my brothers not to eat so much candy. And I didn't get my ears pierced till college, because it just wasn't something I cared about anymore.

I never thought much about those things at the time. I mean, I knew my life had changed drastically. But I was so young, I didn't really have the capacity to sort through what I was feeling on my own. I knew I was sad, but I didn't know why I was so angry at everyone, or why I was so afraid of everything. I tried to ignore it as much as possible, and it wasn't too difficult, what with having my brothers to take care of.

And school. School helped too. Lots of kids hate school, but I loved it. It was the one area of my life where I felt like I had any control. I liked the order, the routine, the rules. I knew it was an illusion, that life doesn't operate according to the rules we try to impose, but it was so nice to pretend. When I followed the rules, I was praised and treated kindly by adults in a way I wasn't at home. School took my mind off my problems and gave me an escape from my father. And of course, there was always the dream that if I studied hard enough, I'd be able to write myself a ticket somewhere new, where I could start fresh away from all the painful memories of my past. And as it turned out, that's exactly what happened.

But, no matter how far you go, memories have a way of following, you know? (Of course you do. You know better than anyone.) And in addition to memories, there was the guilt that I felt (and still feel) about leaving my brothers. But I'd developed the habit of ignoring feelings by focusing on work, and it's a difficult one to break. It's only now that I have a less demanding workload that I've had the time to give them the attention they deserve.

I don't think I've ever written this stuff down before. It actually feels kind of good to get it out on paper rather than to keep trying to push it down. Of course, I'd probably never write any of this if you were actually going to receive this letter. Not that you'd laugh or anything. I know you wouldn't. In fact, out of everyone I know, you're probably the person I'd feel the least uncomfortable relating this stuff to. But you know I don't like to give away too much. And anyway, you always seem to know too much about me without my saying anything, so I try not to encourage your nosiness. Although from time to time, the thought pops up: would it really be so terrible for someone to know me so well?

I guess maybe I am a little lonely, even among all these welcoming people. Thanks for saying it's OK to miss the CBI. I do miss it. I miss seeing the team on a daily basis. I miss my office, and the bullpen, and the smell of your tea. And above all things, I miss you.

Take care,

Lisbon


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thank you for your patience with my slow updating! In addition to time constraints I had some writer's block with this chapter. I hope you enjoy.**

Dear Lisbon,

How about a little show-and-tell? I thought you might like a souvenir of my travels, so I'm sending you a seashell along with this letter. It belonged to a cowry, which is a sort of sea snail. The shells wash up all over the beaches around here, in all different sizes.

As I was walking back from the beach this morning, shell in hand, I stopped in to say hello to the ladies at the post office. These two are a real fixture of life here in the village. Day after day they sit in their same spots, gossiping about this and that, complaining about their husbands, and quoting me seemingly random prices for postage.

"What are you going to do with that shell, Señor?" one of them asked after I'd greeted them.

"I'm not sure yet," I replied. It wasn't true. I knew as soon as I laid eyes on it that I wanted you to have it, but it's more fun to keep them guessing. "What do you think I should do with it, ladies?"

"Don't keep it in your house, whatever you do. It's bad luck to keep seashells in the house," one of them said.

"Bad luck," the other one repeated, with a nod of absolute certainty.

"Why is that?" I asked. Neither of them could say. Apparently it's simply an age-old belief in these parts. I finally decided to let them in on my plan. "Maybe I'll send it to a friend of mine who lives far away. Don't you think it would make a pretty souvenir?"

"I suppose. Just tell her not to keep it in her house." And with that they returned their attention to their inventory lists, and I continued on my way. I don't know how they knew that my friend is a woman, but these two are pretty sharp. Fortunately, I know that they don't speak a word of English, otherwise I'd suspect them of reading my letters.

So there you are, Lisbon, you've been warned of the unspecified dangers of keeping a shell in the house. It's interesting, because I've also read that according to the Chinese principles of feng shui, seashells are supposed to bring good luck. They're seen to represent a shield of protection, and because they come from the ocean, which connects far-away places, they're even believed to have the power to strengthen long-distance relationships.

Of course, you and I are both too practical to believe in such superstitious nonsense. All the same, there is a certain charm inherent in these little nuggets of folk wisdom, don't you think? Maybe you could keep the shell in your office at work. That way you'll get all the supposed "benefits" of the feng shui without contravening the directives of my post office señoras. It wouldn't be in your house after all...

Speaking of folklore, did you ever hold a shell up to your ear in order to hear the sound of the ocean? I loved doing that when I was a kid. Whenever the carnival stopped along the coast, I'd spend my spare time wandering along the beaches, just exploring and taking everything in. It was such a nice change from the daily grind. Away from my father and the crowds I was expected to impress, I was free just to exist, along with sand, sea and sky.

Listen and you'll hear the same sound of the ocean that lulls me to sleep. That is, when I can get it. The insomnia isn't as much of a problem as it used to be, at least not in the same way. It's not so much that I have trouble getting to sleep as it is that I've been having these unsettling dreams lately. I don't know if you'd call them nightmares, at least they're not like other nightmares I've had in the past, where I'm facing some immediate danger, but I find them troubling nonetheless.

One recurring dream that I have is that I'm back at the CBI. I'm sitting on my couch reading some book or other when I get the urge to make a cup of tea (I know, all business as usual up to this point). So I head to the break room, but I can't find my favourite turquoise cup anywhere. I check every cupboard, the counter, the sink, and the dishwasher, all with no luck, and meanwhile my craving for tea is steadily growing stronger. I run back to the bullpen and demand to know who has taken my cup, but no one pays any attention to me.

"Grace, have you seen my cup?"

"Go away Jane, I'm busy," she replies without even looking at me.

I try Rigsby next, but he has even less sympathy for my situation than Grace. "Jane, if you can't take care of your things, then you really don't deserve to have them in the first place."

Their disdain is hurtful, but I can't focus on anything other than my desperate need for tea. I'm shaking like an addict in withdrawal as I approach Cho.

"Cho, please, I need you to help me find my cup!" But he is also unmoved.

"You have to stop this, Jane. It's not your cup. It never belonged to you." And then he returns to his work, unfazed as ever.

I turn and race toward your office, knowing for sure that you'll help me even if no one else will. When I get there though, you're nowhere to be found. The walls are bare and the furniture is gone. But there, in the centre of the floor is my teacup, smashed to pieces.

That's the point where I wake up in a sweat, the sound of the ocean waves reassuring me that it was just a dream. Nevertheless, I can never fall back to sleep right away, so I get up, make myself a pot of tea and proceed to drink it all. I can quench my thirst during my waking hours, at least.

Thanks for listening, Lisbon, or I guess I should say thanks for reading. I'm not usually one to confide such things, as you well know, but somehow it's easier in writing. I wonder what's going on in your dreams these days? I know you'd never tell me, but I'm sure I'd have fun trying to pester it out of you.

Sweet dreams,

U No Hoo

 **A/N: I think there will be one more reply letter from Lisbon and then we'll skip ahead in time a bit.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thanks again for your patience with the snail-like pace of my updating! We're close to the end here, I'm thinking there will be two chapters to go after this.**

Dear Jane,

Thank you for the cowry shell, it's beautiful. I've taken your advice and put it on my desk at work. Sometimes, when I'm in the middle of filling out some boring report, and the dullness of life in general starts getting to me, I see the shell and think of you, the least dull person I've ever met. It reminds me that you're still out there somewhere, reading a book, or making tea, and maybe even writing me a letter. It makes me smile to think of it, and it makes the days seem less monotonous.

In response to what you last wrote, I would definitely classify as a nightmare any dream that wakes you up in a sweat and makes you unable to get back to sleep. I'm sorry to hear you've been having bad dreams. The one you described sounded pretty terrible. I've had dreams like that before, where nothing physically harms you, but suddenly the people you trust and care for most in the world are cold and detached. That's the part that stays with you when you wake up, that effortless betrayal.

It's silly, but it made me a bit sad to hear I wasn't in the dream to help you (or at least to point out that you could just use a different cup). Or better yet, I wish I could have been there with you when you woke up from that bad dream, like you were with me once. Do you remember? It was at the hospital after I stupidly went by myself into that house after Partridge and got tasered by Red John. I never did tell you what the nightmare was about.

I dreamed I was coming into work at the CBI and when I got to the bullpen, Bertram was there, his shirt spattered with blood. He was drawing a Red John smiley with his hand on the glass partition. I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

"Sir?" I asked, not knowing what to do. He looked up unfazed, as if I'd just interrupted him doing nothing more innocuous than paperwork.

"Oh, Lisbon. Be with you in a minute," he said, and calmly continued drawing. I walked further into the bullpen only to find an even more horrifying sight: Cho, Van Pelt and Rigsby were all lying butchered on the floor. There were smileys drawn all over the place in their blood. Then, I caught sight of you on the ground, unconscious, your cup and saucer lying tipped over in front of you. Reede Smith was kneeling next to you, his hands soaked in blood from his previous kills, holding a knife and getting ready to do to you what Bertram had already done to the others. Then he caught sight of me.

"Lisbon. Give me a hand, would you?" He asked, addressing me just as calmly as Bertram had. I backed up in horror, not knowing what to do, when suddenly I heard someone softly call my name.

"Teresa?" I whipped around to find Ray Haffner standing right there, covered in blood as well. Before I could react, he said "Sorry about this" and slashed me with a knife.

That's when I woke up in the hospital, terrified, with my heart racing out of control. But you were there with me. You stroked my hair and told me that everything was all right, that I was safe. No one's done that for me since my mom died. When someone is with you after a bad dream, the relief is so much more immediate, so much more palpable. With that person there to talk to you it's easier to ground yourself in reality, to put distance between yourself and the chaos of the dream world. That was one of the worst nightmares I've ever had. Fortunately, it was also one of the best awakenings from a nightmare I've ever had. So thanks for being there with me.

I hate to think of you waking up from a bad dream without so much as your favourite cup to comfort you. What you don't know is that I collected the pieces of your cup, and I'm keeping them safe for you. So your cup isn't gone, Jane. It may be broken, but it's not lost. It'll be yours again, you'll see.

A few months ago, I had a bad dream of my own. I dreamed that McAllister's body wasn't the only one they found in the park that day. Yours was there too, floating face down in the pond, just like that horrible night I found you before you went into that fugue state. Only this time, it was too late. There was nothing to be done. You were just gone, and it was just... well, I can't even stand to think about it.

I woke up from that dream gasping and disoriented. This time you weren't there to tell me that I was safe. But the sun was rising, and I could see the bunch of daffodils that I'd put in a vase on my bedside table. They were from my garden, the very ones you'd suggested I plant. They'd bloomed earlier that month. Their golden heads were dazzling in the early morning light, their sunny faces trumpeting the arrival of the new day. "Time to put aside those silly dreams and get on with the business of living," they seemed to say. And I felt reassured, because in a way, those daffodils were there because of you, because of your suggestion. It made me realize that even from far away, you have an impact on my life; you're still a part of it. And that was enough to make me jump out of bed and greet the day with a smile, before I'd even had my first cup of coffee.

I hope you don't have any more bad dreams. I wish I could be there to comfort you when you wake up, the way you did for me that time. I wish I could stroke your hair and tell you that you're safe. I wish I could tell you so many things.

Sweet dreams,

Lisbon


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: First off, my apologies for having left this so long! The past six months have been a very stressful time for me because of work and family health issues and I just haven't had the time or the energy to write. Fortunately the pressure has eased off a bit for the moment, and I'm so happy to be able to return to this story. Thank you so much for your patience.**

 **We're jumping ahead in time here to just after "My Blue Heaven". This is a letter that Lisbon writes to Jane while he's being held by the FBI. It doesn't end up being delivered, but of course she doesn't know that at the time of writing.**

Dear Jane,

Well, you certainly livened up my week, I'll give you that much. I'm currently sitting on a plane back to Washington, trying to make sense of this turn of events. I've got to say, I'm not having much success.

You may have lost the vest and gained a beard, but I see you're still the same old Jane. Only a few minutes in your company and I'm left with even more questions than I had before. It would almost be comforting to know that some things never change, if it weren't also irritating as hell. You never did make it easy to get answers out of you, and now thanks to your refusal to meet Abbott halfway, it doesn't look like I'm going to be able to see you again anytime soon, so I'll have to settle for writing you this letter, and hoping that the FBI sees fit to deliver it.

I knew something was up last week, when Abbott came all the way out to Cannon River just to have a five-minute chat with me. He asked if I'd heard from you, and I told him that I hadn't. He asked about Cho and Rigsby and Van Pelt, and then he made a point of commenting on the cowry shell on my desk and holding it up to his ear to hear the sound of the ocean. He left shortly after, and I could only assume by the strangeness of the encounter and his self-satisfied attitude that he'd got a lead on your whereabouts somehow. I wasn't too worried about it, knowing that you were somewhere safe from extradition.

So imagine my surprise when he called me two days ago to inform me that he'd not only located you, but that the two of you were working out a deal that would allow you to come back to the U.S. without being charged. He said you'd insisted that I be present at the meeting in Austin to discuss terms, and asked me to fly out straight away.

I hung up from that phone call thinking that my prayers had been answered. I stupidly allowed myself to believe that a solution was in sight, and that you could finally return home without a murder conviction looming over your head. It seemed too good to be true, and sure enough, it was. I just didn't expect that to be because of your stubbornness rather than the FBI's. Don't you know how great this is that the feds are even considering this?

I really think you're making a mistake here. You could make a new start for yourself, and I could finally have some peace of mind knowing that you're safe. Jane, please think about what you're doing here. You're being given an opportunity to start again. Please take it. You wrote in your letters that you felt at loose ends, that you didn't know what you were going to do with the rest of your life or what kind of person you were going to be. This could be your chance to really start your new chapter, to give your life a new purpose. Don't wreck it for yourself by insisting on having every single one of your demands met.

And speaking of those demands, where do you get off assuming that now you've come back, I'll just drop whatever else is going on in my life and run to be your loyal sidekick? I have a job, you know. You can't just waltz in and start dictating my life. You wrote in your first letter that you had no right to ask me for anything or to take my forgiveness for granted. But now you think you can just snap your fingers and I'll come running? You think you know everything Jane, but you could have at least asked me what I wanted.

I'm really annoyed with you, Jane. I want you to know that. But I can't send this letter without also letting you know how wonderful it was to see you again, even if it was only for a few minutes. I know I already thanked you for the letters, but I really need to say it again, I need you to know how much they meant to me, how much they helped me get through what has been a bleak period in my life. I would have written you back if I could have. I really wish I could have. You have no idea how much.

I can't stand the thought of you standing some lengthy and painful trial just to end up in prison for the rest of your life. And maybe it's all the same to you whether you go to jail or work for the FBI. Maybe you'll feel like you're in prison either way. But it isn't all the same to me, Jane. I can't bear to see you throw your life away. You have a choice now. Don't let the past two years count for nothing. Don't let your pride keep you from seeing the value of a compromise.

Take care,

Lisbon

P.S. I talked to Cho after our meeting and he told me about your friend there, Agent Fischer. Did you seriously not have a clue who she was? She's got "federal agent" written all over her.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N :**

 **This next letter is Jane's last one to Lisbon before he returns to the States. I decided to post it after Lisbon's letter to Jane in detention because in my mind it wouldn't have had time to reach her until after the reunion. It includes some of the monologue from Jane's letter in 6x09, both from the voice-over and what we could see written on the page while he signs it. (I'm not the only one who zoomed in on that shot and strained their eyes trying to decipher every word, right? All in the name of research, you guys).**

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Dear Lisbon,

I hope this finds you well. All is well here. I have my routines. The weather's finally turned. It's a little cooler, far from cold. But the ocean's still warm, and with the warm ocean currents comes an abundance of sea life. Just yesterday I watched a pod of dolphins play so close to shore I could almost touch them. They're the kinds of things I think you'd enjoy.

I've found a tailor. Yup, a real bespoke kind of thing. I explain what I want, he doesn't agree and suggests a change, I say I don't want it, and then he does it anyway. Despite his sometimes poor taste, his work is excellent. I think you might be surprised at the look. Maybe one day you'll get a chance to see it. Let's just say, I've gone native.

There are so many things here I wish I could show you, things I wish I could see you smile at or hear your thoughts about. I wish you could smell the heady fragrance of the exotic flowers, or see the warm mist rise from the ground after a rainfall. I wish you could see the beauty of the beaches, and feel the fine white sand under your feet.

You never did allow yourself much time to stop and enjoy the beauty of nature. I'm sure you'd shrug it off as no big deal. You'd say you're a city girl at heart, with no particular desire to get burned to a crisp, stung by jellyfish or get eaten alive by mosquitoes. To paraphrase Wordsworth, you see little in nature that is yours. But we are all a part of nature, just as much as the birds and the trees. I think all you need is the time to be able to appreciate it more, without the constant stress of work to distract you. Maybe you're doing just that now that you've got a less demanding workload.

I must say though, as much as I enjoy the relaxed pace and the natural beauty of this place, there is still that sense of restlessness that lingers, that feeling of not knowing what to do with myself now that I've begun this new chapter. I'm not a young man, but for the first time in over a decade, I'm starting to feel that life might have more possibilities in store. I might actually have a future ahead of me, but even after two years, I have no idea what that future might look like. I keep trying to move on, to figure out some plan of action, to come up with some goals to guide me forward. But I keep coming up empty.

There are worse situations to be in than to have one's days free to explore the rocky coastline and watch the dolphins play. I could simply do this for the rest of my life and surely be the envy of many. But with each day I become more aware of this growing fear of life passing me by. Every day I see Roger, another American, drinking by himself at the beach cafe. He's a fellow English-speaker, but I can't even hold a conversation with him, his mind is so addled by years of alcohol and, I assume, loneliness. I've never been able to find out his story, why he came here or what led him to a solitary life of drinking, but I'm afraid that I will turn into him if I keep living this aimless existence, just a lonesome old man, lost in his own mind.

I'm sorry, Lisbon, I don't mean to depress you with such dark thoughts, and it really isn't as bad as all that. Don't worry, it's not like I have no one to talk to here. There's my young friend Franklin who works at the hotel, he keeps me informed of the goings on there. I've asked him to let me know if anyone should come looking for me.

There is also a very kind older lady named _Señora_ Fernandez, who lives in the apartment next door to me. Whenever her granddaughter comes to visit, the two of them get busy in the kitchen and bake some sweet new confection. Any time I hear little Gabriela's voice on the landing, I know that the whole floor will soon smell wonderful and I will be the grateful recipient of some yummy _alfajores_ , or a delicious slice of _tres leches_ cake.

The other day, I returned from a walk on the beach and was coming up the stairs, when I was greeted by the smell of cinnamon. The whole floor was infused with the warm spicy fragrance, and I was suddenly overcome with a feeling so intense that I had to sit down on the steps and rest my head in my hands for a few minutes.

Did you know that smell is the physical sense most linked to memory? Supposedly it's because the region of the brain that's activated by scent is located in the same area as that which controls our memory functions. I'm sure when Gabriela is all grown up, the smells of cinnamon and vanilla will give her a sense of well-being, because they'll transport her back to Thursday afternoons spent baking with her _abuela_.

I'll bet cinnamon holds a similar scent memory for many people, but my own childhood never had any such cherished culinary moments. In fact, I'd say it's probably only in the last dozen years or so that I've developed a weakness for things that smell of cinnamon. Isn't that strange?

But I digress. I was bowled over by this unexpected emotional reaction. The feeling itself was bittersweet. Somehow, that cinnamon fragrance managed to give me a sense of safety and comfort, like I was re-living some past experience of well-being. But it was accompanied by this terrible feeling of homesickness, where I was all too aware that this peaceful contentedness was not something I was likely to regain. It was like seeing all the happiness in the world, and knowing that it would never be mine.

So there I was, sitting on the stairs and contemplating this experience that seemed like it came straight out of Proust, when I heard some movement and whispering. As I looked up, _Señora_ Fernandez's door opened and there was little Gabriela, smiling and holding a plate of sticky buns fresh from the oven.

" _Hola Señor_ Jane _,"_ she said, not seeming at all surprised to see me sitting all alone at the top of the stairs. "Want to come in and have some _golfeados_? We just made them."

"Thank you," I said, grateful to her for interrupting my brooding. "I'd love to."

As I followed her into the apartment, _Señora_ Fernandez looked up and smiled at me as she brought a freshly made pot of tea to the table. That was different. Most people around here prefer coffee, and _Señora_ Fernandez is no exception.

" _Hola_ _Señor_ Jane. Have a seat and help us eat some of these _golfeados_. We've made too many as usual," she said, and gestured to the table. It was already set for three people.

Have you ever noticed Lisbon, how sometimes it's the tiniest things in life that keep our hearts from breaking? There was something so cheering about seeing that extra cup and saucer laid out, and that pot of tea that must have been made just for me, like knowing that I was expected and welcome, and that my company would add to their enjoyment of the afternoon.

"Thank you," I said, "They smell wonderful. Is that cinnamon in the mix there somewhere?"

"Yes, I always use more cinnamon than the recipe calls for. It's how my mother always made them," said _Señora_ Fernandez as we sat down and helped ourselves to the warm buns. They tasted just as heavenly as they smelled.

Gabriela swallowed a mouthful. "What do you think of them, _Señor_ Jane?"

"They're delicious. And they're exactly what I needed today," I replied. Gabriela beamed at me. _Señora_ Fernandez didn't say anything, just patted my hand and poured me another cup of tea.

Later that evening, I returned to the beach to watch the sunset, the shades of pink and orange and red stretching leisurely across the sky. Like so many things, it made me think of you. I've been meaning to apologize for leaving you on the beach that time. Your absence is the one thing that makes this new chapter strange and sad.

Miss You,

U No Hoo

 **A/N: Still a couple more chapters to go.**


End file.
